


Wednesday

by MiladyMorningstar (PrincessPestilence)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, HBP AU, Masturbation, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 18:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPestilence/pseuds/MiladyMorningstar
Summary: It's Wednesday, and Hermione has plans.





	Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to write this in January but I didn't because I have no motivation or time management skills. Also sorry if this is a little weird, I wrote this while I was sick. I did, however, use that neat Grammarly app to edit so hopefully it should all be kosher.

“Won-Won!” came a nauseating screech from the common room as Ron and I entered the tower, having just returned from our rounds as prefects. Ron, to no-one’s surprise, rushed to the exuberant girl, taking her up in a tight embrace before more or less devouring one another.

 

Any other night, I’d be irritated by this; I usually was. But not tonight. Tonight, Ron and Lavender could shag on the rug by the fire for all I cared. Harry was nowhere to be found, as usual, but tonight I couldn’t be bothered to worry about him.

 

It was Wednesday, and I had plans.

 

The whole thing started because I was bored, to be honest. With Ron and Lavender being all but joined at the hip, and Harry pining for Ginny on top of obsessing ad insaniam over Draco Malfoy, there really wasn’t any room left for me, and being left on your own most days got bloody boring after a while.

 

So, I’d… decided to liven my life up a bit.

 

At first, I started wearing some risqué underthings that I’d bought in Hogsmeade, or not wearing anything at all beneath my standard uniform. Just a little secret that only I knew about. After all, if it was just going to be me on my own, I might as well be interesting. And it’d worked for a while; the thrill at the thought that anyone could catch a glimpse up my skirt and see my bare snatch was exhilarating (although I knew, of course, that the robes I donned over-top prevented anyone from seeing anything). Unfortunately, while this passive exhibitionism was exciting, it didn’t really do much to actually occupy my time, and, well, you can only have so much fun reading in the common room with no knickers on.

 

That was when I’d started to go out nights.

 

Abandoned classrooms, forgotten parlours, out-of-the-way alcoves… any little oubliette this castle had to offer became my own personal playrooms. In the beginning, I’d kept Harry’s map with me, whenever he wasn’t using it to stalk Malfoy. I memorised the schedules and routines of every member of staff, every ghost, every student on the grounds it seemed like to know which areas would be safely abandoned for the night; whichever night it happened to be.

 

And then I hit the jackpot.

 

On Wednesday nights, after the prefects had completed their rounds, Professor Snape met with the Headmaster. Whatever it was they discussed these nights it must be substantial, because the Potions cum Defence Master stayed out for some two hours without fail, leaving his office open for the taking. Well, not “open” per se; that is, it was locked with several advanced charms designed to keep out mischievous students just like myself. However, I’d purchased _101 Counter-Charms To Unlock Any Door_ from Flourish and Blotts in second year, so anything short of an ocular scanner (and even that would only deter me long enough to brew another batch of Polyjuice) would leave a door all but wide open for me.

 

Stealing into Professor Snape’s office felt dangerously like walking into enemy territory, and I’d wondered, that first time if that was how Ron and Harry had felt when they’d polyjuiced themselves into Crabbe and Goyle four years ago. The knowledge that this particular room was not lost and forgotten to all but the castle elves; that in only a few short hours Professor Snape would be sitting down in the chair I’d made a mess in while I pleasured myself… it was addictive. And so, I’d started a routine.

 

On Wednesdays, I’d don my sexiest bra, forgo knickers altogether, and go to class like normal, becoming more and more excited, not only from the mild exhibition but from the anticipation of what would come later. Once I’d finished my obligations, I’d leave my friends to their own ends and sneak back down into the dungeons and into the office of the Head of Slytherin.

 

As it was now, at a quarter past 10 o’clock at night, my day-long foreplay had left me slick and wet, and I half expected to find my inner thighs damp and tacky with the evidence of my arousal. A quick nip upstairs to my dorm, I laid out my pyjamas and made a show of setting up my homework on my bed before drawing the curtains around me. Harry is a good enough friend, thank God, that he’d gotten into the habit of just giving me his cloak on Wednesday mornings, no questions asked. Lord knows I wasn’t about to explain my need for it. Now, though, I pulled it from my bag and draped it over myself before silently creeping out from the corner of my bed-curtain and out the cracked door, Pavarti and Fay Dunbar chatting quietly while Eloise Midgeon slept on. Neither Ron and Lavender, nor any of the other stragglers in the common room noticed as I crept invisibly out the portrait hole.

 

Harry took the map with him tonight in order to stalk Malfoy, so I was extra cautious in addition to the security provided by the cloak. Still, the slightly more winding route I’d chosen seemed to do its job, and I made it to the dungeon office with no incident, if a bit less time to spare.

 

As I’d mentioned, the locks set by the new Master of Defence were no match for my counter-charms, and I was readily granted access. The door shut firmly behind me, I let pulled off the cloak and breathed deeply the scent of ink and sandalwood and some hint of something that was probably best described as Professor Snape. Rather than putting me off, this scent, especially when combined with the others, invoked a sort of Pavlovian arousal in me and I felt my cunt throb as my heart began to race in excitement.

 

With measured steps, I circumvented the large mahogany desk and dropped neatly into the matching office chair. The Chair itself was a gorgeous handcrafted piece that would likely fetch upwards of £1,000 if sold; undoubtedly original 18th-century artistry at least, but I had to admit, it was not nearly so comfortable as my parents’ leather computer chair in the office back at home. But then again, that old wheeled thing didn’t turn me on like 18th-century mahogany. Rigid and uncomfortable though it undoubtedly was, I sank into it eagerly and, with a reflexive glance at the door, hung my legs over each wooden arm (Snape himself, it seemed, had already taken the liberty of adding cushioning charms to the old mahogany which at least saved me the bruises). Wriggling downward, I managed to insinuate my feet into the curve where the arm met the seat of the chair, effectively locking my legs into an obscene spread-eagle that already had me clenching my internal muscles and thrusting minutely into the air as the chill dungeon draught hit my overheated vulva dead on.

 

Slowly, enjoying my own torment, I trailed my fingers from my lips down my chin and throat, feeling my pulse leap beneath them. As they sank into my cleavage, I began one by one to unbutton my uniform blouse, fingertips skimming my skin as it was exposed. One hand came up to cup my full breast, flicking and pinching my nipple through the flimsy lace of my bra. With my eyes closed, head back against the smooth velveteen upholstery I could almost imagine it was someone else’s hand roaming my body, trailing down to where I was already wet and needy. Finally, with my shirt hanging loosely off my shoulders, my hand slipped over the fabric of my skirt where it was bunched uselessly around my hips before sinking down and sliding easily between my slick labia.

 

I gasped, always surprised in spite of myself at the first touch. My clit was already engorged and throbbing, over-sensitised by just the build-up. With my middle and ring finger, I encircled my clit, massaging my U-spot as I gathered slick on my fingers, circling back up to spread the moisture. I pushed my fingers teasingly inside myself before retreating, sliding back up to rub my clitoris in earnest. My hips rocking up to meet me, I set a punishing pace with my two fingers, torturing the poor bundle of nerves.

 

I could feel the crease of my arse and the seat beneath me become damp and then sodden as I dripped ceaselessly, my body bulleting toward an orgasm. With my eyes shut I imagined my professor bending me over the old desk like one of the girls in the magazines I pretend never to have seen. _“Pretty little slut,”_ he'd calls me as he fucked me from behind, one large hand cupping, owning my breast. I squeezed the soft flesh in my own hand to simulate my fantasy.

 

“ _What a naughty girl, sneaking into my office while I’m away. If you wanted me to fuck you, you need only to have asked,”_ I imagined Professor Snape’s deep voice rumbling in my ear; imagined the heat and weight of his body pressing down on mine. I imagined the table edge biting into my stomach as he fucked me over it, and I nearly came. Gasping, my eyes flying open, I snatched my hand away, clit throbbing as my body screamed for completion, but I only held tight to the armrest. My hips humped the air, searching for any kind of friction and being denied.

 

When I thought the danger of coming had passed, I tentatively prodded at my opening, careful to avoid my clit now. Two fingers dipped inside, and I indulged the temptation to rub at my G-spot, the pleasure making me moan aloud, the noise echoing in the quiet room. I rode my fingers for a long moment before switching from massaging to thrusting them into me. Two fingers weren't enough to stimulate me this way, though, and I wriggled a third in alongside them. The fit was tight, but I kept at it; thrusting, scissoring, stretching myself wider. My body was used to these kinds of preparations, and before long the slide was smooth and natural as my three fingers pistoned in and out.

 

Finally, I acknowledged my clit again, rubbing myself in tandem with the thrusting of my fingers. It wasn’t after more than a few moments of this, seconds probably though it felt like endless minutes to me, that I neared the peak of my climax yet again.

 

And again, I pulled way just in time, but with none of the self-control from before, too mindless now by half to be able to calm myself down. With jerky, uncoordinated movements I leant forward awkwardly and stretched my hand to reach the wax stamp on the professor’s desk, standing neatly beside the quill and ink. In the position I was in I could just barely reach it with my fingertips, and one unsteady prod had it toppling over onto its side. One more awkward reach, I was able to roll it toward me and finally grasp it fully in my hand.

 

The wax stamp was more modern, baring Professor Snape’s initials in a Gothic typeset. Rather than intricate carvings like the Headmaster’s own stamp, this one was comparatively dull; utilitarian. And, most importantly, smooth and phallic.

 

The bulbous end of it was a challenge, but I had prepared myself accordingly. Laving the lacquered wood with my tongue to lubricate it, then drawing it through my slick just to be safe, I positioned it at my entrance and pushed until it passed the barrier of muscle. There was a sting as it stretched me wider than my fingers had, but I was too high on endorphins to feel pain, and the burn only added to my want. Finally, I was full; the wooden apparatus thicker and longer than my fingers, and with the edging, I was more than ready to take it. I sank it in to the hilt, I imagined the sight of me spread wide with my cunt plugged, only the embossed initials of my professor sticking out of me. Slowly, I withdrew the stamp, let the broad tip start to stretch me again before plunging it back inside of me.

 

I wanted to go slowly, my fantasy calling for a teasing pace, but my will-power was already shot, and I fucked myself hard and fast, too caught up in my own pleasure to even bother with the fantasy any longer. For a moment I was frustrated with the awkward positioning, briefly imagining myself rising and falling on it instead, but that called for too much work, and I was already so close. With as much leverage as I could manage in my position, I slammed myself forward to meet my hand as it thrust into me, the heel of my palm rubbing my clit with every inward plunge.

 

The office was filled with the slick sound of the stamp ramming into me, and the slap of my hand on my own clit. It rang and echoed with my high keening moans that I couldn’t be bothered to censor or quiet. The one part of my brain that wasn’t focused on my impending orgasm noted, a little inanely, that if anyone could hear me, they would be able to tell how close I was by the pitch of my moaning.

 

That small part of my brain failed, however, to notice that someone could, in fact, actually hear me.

 

It was the slam of the heavy door that clued me into the fact that I was no longer alone in the office.

 

“Professor!” I screeched, my knees pulling together automatically in spite of their bondage and I pulled my skirt down to cover my cunt as I gracelessly tried to free myself.

 

I was going to die. If not by the initial mortification than by the secondary after being forced to explain to my parents why I’ve gone and gotten myself expelled. Possibly it would be the shame of expulsion that would do it, but at the moment the humiliation itself was doing a grand job all on its own. Not only did I long for the ground to swallow me whole, but I wished, for an instant, that I had never been born at all if only to spare me this one moment.

 

Professor Snape was still stunned wordless in a way that I would be proud of in literally any other situation. As it was, in a panic, I broke the silence with “You’re not supposed to be back yet!” and then instantly regret it. Of all the bloody things to say…

 

It was my audacity, probably, that brought Professor Snape back to the moment as well. “I wasn’t aware I was on a timetable,” the older man said coolly, and how he managed that lack of emotion in a situation like this one, I’ll never know. Maybe this happens to him more often than one would think. “You, however, seem _quite_ aware of my schedule, Miss Granger. Tell me, how often do you do this, exactly?”

 

Straight to the point. He hasn’t even started yelling yet, and I think I would have preferred that to having to explain myself.

 

“I, um. Ah.. Uhm…” I stuttered uncharacteristically, squeezing my thighs together like if I did it tight enough, it would undo the fact that he’d seen between them in the first place, wrapping my shirt around my body without buttoning it just to cover myself as thoroughly as I could. I glanced at the invisibility cloak.

 

Snape caught the motion, however, and his eyes were drawn to the cloak as well. Rolling his own dark eyes, he strutted forward and snatched the silken fabric from where it was piled on the desk.

 

“Does Potter know what you’re doing with his cloak?” he asked rhetorically, fingering the fabric, marvelling, I imagined, at the cool, nearly liquid quality of it. “I ought to confiscate it, but I believe it would find its way back to you three before long, considering your skill in countering my locking charms.” He looked at me again, eyes flicking briefly down the length of my body.

 

“You never answered my question,” he continued. “How often do you do this?” He stared me in the eye, and through the panic and mortification I couldn’t help but answer when he stared at me like that.

 

“Once… Once a week,” I confessed, my voice small and timid.

 

“Once a week for how long?” Snape fired back, taking a step closer and I flinched as nerves flew up and down my spine with the need to flee.

 

“A few months,” I elaborated. It was only the shock that was keeping me from bursting into tears.

 

And then he asked the one question I really couldn’t answer.

 

“Why? Why, out of all the rooms in this castle, would you come here to do… _this_?”

 

I shrugged, helplessly. Thinking back on it there really wasn’t a good reason. Any of the professors’ offices would be abandoned this late at night, there was no reason it had to be Professor Snape’s. Any of the other offices and the threat of being caught would remain the same if the fear was what turned me on. The only thing Snape’s office held that the others didn’t was the taboo of simply being a Gryffindor in Slytherin territory. With that in mind, the only answer I was able to give him was, “Because it’s yours, Sir.”

 

The professor seemed to expect this response and nodded. His eyes finally left mine, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief. He glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the stamp that I’d replaced on the desk, wooden finish still shining and wet. “Your underthings,” he noted keenly, “where are they?”

 

I shut my eyes in exasperated shame. “It’s Wednesday,” I explained wearily, resigned in the fact that at least there was nothing more that I could say that would get me into any deeper trouble than I was already in. “I don’t wear knickers on Wednesdays.”

 

Snape stared blankly at me. “Because… you come here… on Wednesdays.” It wasn’t a question, but I nodded in answer anyway.

 

“I see,” he said enigmatically, and I feared he really, really did.

 

“Fifty points from Gryffindor,” he finally said after a long, awkward silence, and I started; “for being out of bed after hours, and for breaking into my office. And three weeks of detention, Miss Granger.” I stared at him uncomprehendingly, not moving. “You may _go_ , Granger,” he prompted.

 

Still, I didn’t understand. “I’m… not going to be expelled, then?” I asked, needing to know.

 

Snape sighed, finally showing some sign that this event had affected him at least somewhat. He pushed his fingers through his fine hair. “To be perfectly honest, Miss Granger, I have no desire to explain this particular situation to the Headmaster. You are of age,“ he paused, looking at me for confirmation and I nodded; I’d turned 17 back in September. He continued, “Nothing you’ve done is technically grounds for expulsion unless I decide to press for reparation of my things,” he gestured vaguely toward the desk and I. “As I said: I have no desire to explain, as I will doubtlessly come out looking almost as poorly as you will. It would be easier, I believe, if we behave as if the event simply never occurred. Don’t you agree?”

 

I couldn’t believe this.

 

No, really. I actually, _literally_ could not believe that I was getting off (pun absolutely not intended) scot-free. Well, with relatively minor punishment, anyway.

 

Still, I wasn’t about to look a gift-horse in the mouth. I nodded emphatically. “Yes, Sir,” I assented.

 

The professor gave a magnanimous gesture toward the door, and I moved to take my leave.

 

“The cloak,” he reminded me, holding the cloth out towards me, and I reached out to grab it, grazing his fingers with my own. The contact shocked us, metaphysically, as we both remembered simultaneously exactly where my fingers had been. I blushed to the roots of my hair and was about to snatch the fabric and run when my hastily wrapped shirt fell open again now that I was no longer holding it together. Snape’s eyes snapped to my breasts, and I could almost feel the heat of their gaze on my tummy. A pink tongue darted out to lick his lips.

 

In an instant my mind began to whir, implications calculating themselves in my mind, and I was suddenly filled with an irrational sense of daring that can only be attributed to my Gryffindor nature. I felt my mouth open. “So long as we’re not explaining anything…” I heard myself say, and Snape’s eyes flew back up to mine, widening as he realised what it was that I was saying, nearly at the same time that I did. “I mean if nobody has to know…”

 

“Granger,” he growled lowly, and I felt gooseflesh rise on my arms.

 

“I _am_ of age,” I reminded him, taking a step forward.

 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Granger,” he insisted, and I had to scoff.

 

“Professor,” I said, pressing closer, the fear all but gone now and I knew he wouldn’t turn me away, “I was just fucking myself with your wax stamp. I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

 

That seemed to be exactly the right thing to say.

 

In a flash he had his hand fisted in my curls, drawing my head back and baring my neck as he pressed himself flush against me and claimed my mouth.

 

It’s not as if I’d never been kissed before. I wasn’t even a virgin. Viktor had taken all the firsts I had back in fourth year, but this was no fumbling 17 year old who barely knew what he was doing. Professor Snape knew exactly what he was doing to me as he licked into my mouth, plundering and dominating in just the way I was asking for and I whined, bringing my hands up to squeeze his biceps. He pulled away, and I instinctively moved to follow, stopped only by his grip on my hair. His eyes were blown wide, and he was panting heavily. Whatever he saw when he looked at me, he seemed satisfied.

 

“Shoes,” he instructed, and I obediently toed off the loafers, leaving the burgundy stockings as Professor Snape pushed my blouse off my shoulders, hands coming back around to cup my bra-clad breasts, hands as big and warm as I’d imagined them and I gasped. He smirked, and his hands skimmed down my body, making me shiver. With deft fingers he found the button of my skirt and unfastened it, leaving it to fall in a puddle at my feet.

 

And there I was again in front of him in nought but my bra and a pair of knit stockings as he took me in. His eyes kept catching on the eye-popping red of my bra, but he soon zeroed in on my crotch.

 

I was hairless there, the convenience of the depilatory elixirs down in Hogsmeade being greater than my feminist ideations regarding patriarchally defined beauty standards. I was also clearly still soaking wet, and the Professor glanced up at me with a sly smirk before parting my labia with a long finger.

 

I gasped at the intrusion, but before I could say or do anything, Professor Snape was already on his knees.

 

“Oh, my God,” I muttered in shock, as Snape’s patrician nose nuzzled at my cunt. The older man dipped his head and lifted one thigh over his shoulders. I fisted my hands in the material of his cloak, holding on for dear life as I balanced on one foot while his tongue darted out to lap at my clit.

 

I squealed at the first contact, but he didn’t let up. Soon he had his whole mouth around my pussy, licking and sucking and I was powerless to do anything but ride his face. His hand squeezed my arse once then his fingers dipped in toward my hole, slick pooled there from my earlier dripping arousal, and Professor Snape got a finger in easily, and he began thrusting in time with his tongue.

 

Surprisingly, I have no experience with anal play. To be honest, it never really appealed to me before. But clearly, the professor knows what he’s doing better than I do because the added stimulation had me hurtling toward an orgasm almost before I was ready.

 

“Stop! Stopstopst- ah!” I panted, bringing my leg down and doubling over the man in front of me, shaking with the effort to hold myself off.

 

“Granger,” Snape said cautiously, running his hand up my ribcage like I was a spooked horse, “Hermione,” he tried again, gentler, “what’s wrong?”

 

Panting, I explained, “I was about to come.”

 

He didn’t reply, and I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, bewildered. “…Is that not the point?” he asked, confused.

 

I blushed. I was so used to my routine of edging myself that I acted on reflex. “Right,” I said, embarrassed. “Sorry. Usually, I don’t want to come until…” I trailed off, but he got my point.

 

“Ah,” he uttered, eyes lightening with understanding. “In that case.” He stood, ducking to kiss me again, and I licked the taste of myself from his lips. I pushed my hands into his cloak, pulling his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers so I could finally touch skin. He indulged my exploration as he walked backwards, leading me back to his chair. I freed his shirt just as he dropped down into the chair and I whined in disappointment.

 

“Hush,” he scolded, but his tone held amusement, not irritation. Quickly he unfastened his fly, opening his trousers widely enough to pull out his cock; long and pale as he was and my mouth watered. I yelped, startled as he pulled me into his lap, and he nipped at my jaw in chastisement. “Quiet!” he admonished again. “I’ve got you.”

 

I moaned as he kissed and sucked at my neck, urging me forward until I was pressed tightly to his chest. I could feel the soft skin of his cock against my heated pussy, and I whimpered, rubbing myself against him. He growled again, a hand on my arse as he thrust into me, cock slipping wetly against me.

 

“Fuck me!” I begged mindlessly, dropping my head to his shoulder.

 

Apparently, he was only waiting for me to ask. Urging me up on my knees he positioned himself, rubbing the head of his cock at my slit and I groaned. “Go on,” he allowed, ordered, I couldn’t even tell. Obediently, relieved, I sank down onto him, crying out as he filled me. The warm flesh was nothing like the unyielding wood I was used to, and I couldn’t stop myself from rocking onto it.

 

Taking his cue from me, the professor started up a fast pace, and before long I was merely holding myself up as he snapped his hips in and in and in. I buried my face in his neck, that familiar scent overwhelming me and as if from a distance I could hear myself chanting: “Yes! Yes! There! OH! Fuck, _fuckme_!”

 

I had no control of my mouth, of my brain, of my body. My hands were fisting and scratching at his cloak, and I knew that if he had been shirtless, I’d have left him bloody. Still, he didn’t seem to mind; if anything my desperation egged him onward, and he thrust into me harder, wilder.

 

My orgasm took me entirely by surprise.

 

I had just enough time to bite down on his shoulder, muffling myself as best as I could as I screamed.

 

He didn’t stop, only fucked me through it until I was shaking and insensate. I was a doll in his arms, and I had no problem letting him use me as he saw fit.

 

Suddenly he pulled out, and I mewled, though I doubt he heard me. A large hand squeezed between our bodies to grasp his cock, jerking until ropes of thick come spurted out, coating my stomach, one long strand staining the silk of my bra.

 

“Shit…” I mumbled, blinking sleepily at the mess he’d made of me.

 

Professor Snape began to shake, and it took me a moment to realise he was laughing. I grinned.

 

I’d never even seen him smile before.

 

He raised his head, and we were nose-to-nose. His hair was a mess, his face was splotchy and red, flushed with arousal, but his face was relaxed, and he was smiling.

 

I felt myself smiling back.

 

“I have to get back to bed,” I said, whispering.

 

He nodded, sighing. “Of course. It’s a school night after all.” He pulled his arms from around me and rested them on the arms of the chair.

 

“Do you think… we could do this again, next week?”

 

I knew he was surprised by the offer, but to his credit, he didn’t show it.

 

Eventually, he huffed a wry laugh. “Who am I to disrupt your routine?”

 

I grinned. Next Wednesday, I _definitely_ have plans.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Hermione's bra](http://img04.taobaocdn.com/bao/uploaded/i4/T1llC3XlBjXXb.lFDX_114102.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> [Snape's wax stamp](http://i01.i.aliimg.com/wsphoto/v0/993308029_1/free-shipping-customize-wedding-logo-Retro-vintage-wax-font-b-seal-b-font-sealing-stamps-Metal.jpg)


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